Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [28]
‘But Coatlicue’s brother helped her escape to snake mountain, and her unborn child spoke to her from the womb, asking his uncle how close the pursuing army was, telling his mother, “Don’t be afraid; I know what to do.”’
‘A telepathic foetus?’ whispered Ace, but the Doctor waved her silent.
‘When Huitzilopochtli was born, fully formed but for his withered left foot, he put on his battle gear. He picked up his feathered shield, he painted his face with children’s paint, he wore plumage on his head. On his left foot he wore a feathered sandal. His legs and arms were painted blue. And he picked up the Xiuhcoatl, the turquoise serpent.
He struck his sister Coyolxauhqui with the Xiuhcoatl,
Send her tumbling down the mountain:
He cut off her head.
And left it lying on the slope of the snake mountain.
Her body went rolling down the hill.
Her hands fell here,
Her legs fell there.
Achtli blinked sleepily. ‘Enough of this,’ he said, ending his tale.
‘Like a sacrifice tumbling down the steps of the temple,’ said the Doctor. ‘The Great Temple represents the snake mountain. And during Huitzilopochtli’s annual festival, they hurl a burning paper serpent down the steps. The Xiuhcoatl. A ray of the sun.’
‘What is it?’
‘Just a weapon,’ said the Doctor. ‘Just a weapon.’
* * *
The sound of the stoneworkers had stopped at last. Tenochtitlan was subdued, waiting. Tomorrow morning the great dedication would begin, the consecration of the greatest temple the Aztecs had ever built. The slaves and the captives were enjoying their last night, as the old women washed their faces, cooing to them like mothers, feeding them blood and cactus wine to give them courage for the dawn.
In the coolness of the evening, Ce Xochitl returned to his house, to discover that his sons had taken off their jewellery and washed away their paint. They stood in plain cotton cloaks and simple sandals, waiting for their father.
‘Otiquihiyohuih,’ said Iccauhtli. ‘Father, with your permission, we must take a boat onto the lake tonight.’
Ce Xochitl looked from one to the other. Achtli looked unwell, his eyes cast to the ground. ‘What of your duties in the temple, my son?’
‘I may not be able to return to the temple, father,’ said Achtli. ‘I have tried to kill the Ticitl.’
Ce Xochitl turned his shock into a graceful movement of his hand, a stylized gesture of surprise. ‘For what reason?’
‘Father,’ said Achtli, ‘you know that for many years I have been able to see the world behind the pages of this book, to take a glimpse of those gods whose painted figures we are. Now the god who paints me has set me on a path of his choosing. First to slay the Ticitl, now to follow him. For a true god cannot be slain.’
From the shadows behind them came the Doctor and Ace, dressed for the journey. ‘I have saved one of your sons, honoured judge,’ said the Ticitl, his unnatural eyes glittering in the torchlight. ‘Now let me try to save the other.’
Ce Xochitl knew that what was taking place was beyond his understanding. Reality was slippery, the gods were fickle – might not a man be wealthy one day and a slave the next? He bowed his head, determined to accept the divine intrusion into his life with proper humility. ‘Follow where your visions lead you, my children,’ he said quietly. ‘And I will pray for you both.’
He laid his hands on their heads.
* * *
Bernice found Cristián in his pyjamas, watching the soccer in Spanish with Ocelot in his lap.
He smiled at her tiredly, turning down the sound with a remote. Ocelot chirped, batting at her bag. ‘Behave, animal,’ said Cristián. ‘How went your researches?’
‘Well,’ she said, taking out her bulging notebook. ‘At least it’s possible to research the fifteenth century in the twentieth.’
‘You’re disappointed not to have had a closer look.’
‘After reading about your ancestors all day, I’m not particularly keen on inviting them round to tea. No offence.’
Cristián massaged Ocelot between the ears. ‘It must seem like a backwater of history, this little city in this little year. Very boring,